The Tuscan revolution had cost no drop of blood--not
so much as a bloody nose--to any human being thus far, and there was
no danger whatever that any violence would be shown to the departing
and totally unprotected prince. But there might have been danger that
the populace would tarnish their hitherto blameless conduct by some
manifestation of insult or exultation. There was not one word of the
sort spoken in all the crowd, or indeed a word of any sort. The
carriages, carrying away those who were never to see the banks of the
Arno and fair Florence again, passed on in perfect--one might almost
say in mournful--silence. Of course the masses of the crowd were soon
passed, and the grand ducal heart, if it had beat a little quickly
while his unguarded carriage was passing between the lines of those
who declined to be any longer his subjects, resumed that "serenity"
supposed to be the especial property of royal highnesses. But some
half dozen carriages, containing a score or so of those whose
positions had brought them into personal acquaintance with the
sovereign, accompanied the royal cortege as far as the Tuscan frontier
between the grand ducal state and the dominions of the Church. Arrived
at that spot--it is on the top of a high, bleak ridge among the
Apennines--there was a general alighting from the carriages for the
mutual saying of the last words of farewell.
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